


Star Wars: Prodigy of the Empire

by Stotle



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Flirting, Hurt/Comfort, Imprisonment, Interrogation, The Dark Side of the Force (Star Wars), The Force, Training
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:48:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28105008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stotle/pseuds/Stotle
Summary: What started as a Force-sensitive Imperial prodigy's routine interrogation of a young Rebel operative spirals into a dangerous game of cat and mouse between the two fiercely loyal agents, as well as the galaxy-wide powers they fight for. Will the prodigy stay loyal to the regime (and the shadowy master) that offers him agency, unimaginable power, and a place in the story of the galaxy? Or will the young Rebel convince him to find his destiny on the right side of history?





	1. The Interrogation

**Author's Note:**

> A seventeen-year-old Imperial attempts to extract valuable information from a similarly young Rebel prisoner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A high-ranking Imperial interrogates a suspected Rebel operative.

The girl sitting before him, somehow looking relaxed to the point of boredom even with her hands shackled to the glossy black table, would’ve been his type back on Solarine. He took in her thick, shiny black hair, shoulder-length but almost overgrown in the front. He imagined she was the type to have to blow an unruly lock out of her face when she finished punching someone’s lights out. She was probably the type to cut it specifically so that she’d have to do that. It was a power move, and he appreciated a good power move. For all he knew, she was actually born on his homeworld. She looked like one of the scores of girls out on the boats, hauling in nets of laa and greenclaw crab like everyone else who cared to pull their weight. These were the girls that never gave him so much as a wink, though he wouldn’t either if he were in their position, as his favorite old pastime happened to be stealing their freshest catches for himself when the oldies in charge of cleaning the fish got engaged in some raucous conversation and took their eyes off the prize. 

Whoever had arrested and processed her had allowed her to keep her clothes, though they were in poor shape. Her brown leather jacket (was that genuine shaak hide?) had a gash at the shoulder, he could probably rip the whole sleeve off if he wanted to. The dark blue shirt had rust-colored stains near the collar, and his gaze followed the line of her tan neck up to her jaw, where the source of the bleeding was clear—a welt just to the left of her chin. The spot wasn’t actively bleeding anymore, but it still had a fresh shine to it, and, as his datapad confirmed, she had been here two days already, so the mark had clearly been inflicted by one of the two goons guarding the door, or another officer that had visited her since her check-in to this lovely establishment. 

He took a deep breath. They wouldn’t be pleased to see him staring at the prisoner instead of interrogating her. He’d already decided to abandon any pretense of a questioning strategy. If they’d wanted him to use one of the techniques they taught the stormtroopers and officers, they would’ve done so. Maybe that sand flea Commander Granz had purposely sent him in unprepared, hoping to avoid being upstaged by a seventeen-year-old. He chose to believe the positive option. The Empire had such faith in his improvisational skills that they were willing to sic’ him on a potential Rebel operative with no scripted line of questioning whatsoever. His orders had been simple: find out why they did something as stupid as attempting to fight off a fire team of troopers who were just making a routine inspection of the aurodium mine. 

“Keller Atisma,” he began, in as formal a voice as he could muster. “You were arrested on Var-Shaa on charges of assaulting a uniformed trooper, resisting arrest, and refusing a search.”

She looked at him, dead-on. “Uh, I know.” It was a perfect response, just perfect. He would’ve done the same, in her position. She couldn’t be that much older than him, and it was a very quintessentially teenage response. His fellow officers expected him to act older than 17 these days, but he was still allowed to appreciate the wry wit of a youthfully irreverent prisoner, wasn’t he?

“Interesting,” he replied calmly. “You don’t want to deny it? Do you also know that, combined, these charges can amount to treason?”

“Would denying it do me any good?” Keller asked. Clever girl. They had video evidence from the troopers’ helmet cameras. No sense adding to the heap of trouble she was in by lying. “I’ll deny it if it makes you happy. Let you test out whatever interrogation technique you were going to use on me.” She winked at him with the word ‘use’. 

He couldn’t resist a chuckle. Less than thirty seconds in, and he’d already allowed her to gain confidence. It wasn’t that he had done anything wrong yet. Rather, she was exceptional. He had at least managed to deduce that much. “There wasn’t a strategy. You’re actually the first delinquent I’ve had the privilege of entertaining.”

She smiled, spreading her hands out as far as they would go in a celebratory gesture. “Oh! And what makes me so special that I get the...exquisite opportunity to be your training speeder?”

“Nothing, really,” he said, hoping this response would cut her. “You’re just the only one we managed to capture. That stings, right? All your buddies got out, and you were either too slow or too disposable to join them.”

“Disposable, yeah,” she replied flippantly. “Or, they knew I wouldn’t talk, and even if I did, I don’t know enough to be useful to you.”

He grinned. Too easy. “So there are things to know? Why did you and your gang fight so valiantly to defend one aurodium mine?”

“It’s a valuable metal,” Keller said seriously. “We’d rather have it contribute to Var-Shaa’s economy than line some admiral’s quarters.”

“But you contribute five percent of your product to the Imperial refineries anyways. And I know for a fact that Var-Shaa's economy has never been stronger than it is now. Why protect this batch?”

“Let’s just call it an aggressive renegotation of our contract with the Empire.”

“If you want a ‘renegotiation’, it doesn’t have to be aggressive. In fact, I’m sure the Empire would leave your mine alone entirely in exchange for a complete debriefing on the insurgent cell you’re conspiring with. We really can be quite reasonable.”

Keller threw her head back, laughing. He got the sense (as one ‘gets the sense’ that they’re being whacked with a truncheon) that the laughter was intended to be mocking, but it was so bubbly and clear that he almost started chuckling right with her. He managed to stay professional. “Have you ever been off this Destroyer, buddy? ‘Reasonable’ isn’t the word most people associate with the Empire.”

“I had never seen a Star Destroyer for the first sixteen years of my life,” he said.

“Must have been a blessed sixteen years,” Keller smiled. 

“You would think that way, being a treasonous insurgent--

“--disgruntled miner,” she corrected him, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

“But, for your information, the Empire saved me, saved my homeworld. I went from stealing fish to commanding a Destroyer in the space of a year. My planet was a nest of pirates whose economy depended on how high the tide was. Now it’s a trade anchor for the sector.”

“Congratulations,” Keller rolled her eyes. “But for every Imperial Dream story they’ve fed you, I’ve got three for how they oppress everyone they come into contact with.” 

“I’m sure you do. It’s how they keep rebels like you in line, right? Give you all the horror stories, convince you that the terror you inflict is worth it because the Empire is nothing but evil.”

“‘The Empire is nothing but evil,’” she fired back. “Your words, not mine.” 

“Wow, you’re a really disgruntled miner,” he retorted. And he saw annoyance ghost across her heavy-lidded eyes. Keller had betrayed too much emotion, and she knew it. The room seemed to grow hotter as she tried desperately to contain her frustration and he zeroed in for the kill. 

“Which cell are you sending the aurodium to?” he pressed, leaning over the table. She looked down at her lap. “Phoenix Squadron? The Massassi group? The Mon Calamari?” 

Keller spat a foreign curse at him, and he ran the word through his mental database until he found a match. “Huttese?” he drawled. “Impressive. Is there a Rebel cell on Nal Hutta? Wouldn’t have pegged the slug lords for idealists.”

“I’ve got no knowledge of any Rebel cells. And I’m almost positive my bosses don’t either.”

“Oh, good technique, Keller.” He refused to back down now. He’d discovered a chink in the durasteel armor. The Empire was counting on him. “‘Almost positive,’” he mocked. “Not just playing dumb, but ignorant. But it’s like they say, actions speak louder than words. And the actions of you and your compatriots are far too desperate to simply be protecting the day’s mining output.”

Keller was mute. She’d wisely decided that simply shutting up was going to be her best bet. Really, she had been a disappointment. When he entered the room, he’d seen something in her that suggested she might be a challenge. And she’d been fun to spar with for a bit, but it had been all too easy to get her riled up.

“I’ll ask one last time,” he said, with an air of finality. “Who are you sending the aurodium to? And for what purpose?”

At this, Keller looked up, dark eyes blazing within the slightly-less-dark circles of bruises. “See, I don’t think this will be the last time you ask.” She made a show of looking around the small, bare (or, as he thought of it, minimalist) room. “I don’t see one of those interrogation droids you think the galaxy doesn’t know about. Is your strategy just to ask me for information—information that I don’t have—progressively less nicely?”

And, there we go, he thought to himself. Now he understood why they had not given him a questioning strategy going in. His mind had to be clear of any predispositions. He had to be able to feel Keller Atisma’s fear, her anger. See, this is why he was special. This is why they’d sent him in when the plastoid knuckles, the truth serum, and the electroshock prods had all failed. Now she had reached the fury point, and he felt as if he was swimming in the warm ocean back on Solarine, only the waves crashing over him were composed of thoughts. 

He closed his eyes, feeling that euphoric heat spread from his stomach, all the way up his spine, and into his mind. The images were incomplete, but still incredibly helpful. A hologram of a white-haired, white-bearded man talking about an “pickup”, golden light spewing from an apparatus that looked like a turbolaser. There was even some personal stuff thrown in--a hushed dinner of a sort of dried meat with two other girls in a dark, rocky hallway, a little brown-skinned boy leaping into her arms and clumsily kissing her on the cheek as she laughed. He groaned to himself. This wasn’t the useful stuff. He dove further under the figurative ocean surface, scrunching his eyes shut tighter to seal off the pesky salt from stinging his eyes. Keller groaned, then failed to suppress a yelp. “Ah! What are you doing to me?”

“Shut up!” he hissed, feeling like he was running out of breath. The Force was telling him to swim back up to the surface, but he refused, kicking further downward. His stomach grew hotter, and he embraced the feeling. Power. Agency. Carrying not only his weight, but the weight of an Empire. Keller was breathing heavily, and he felt a pang of regret. His master had told him it was possible to do this without hurting the subject. Clearly, he was failing. “It’ll hurt less if you just give in!”

He reached out his hand, curling the fingers inward just slightly. The images grew clearer, and louder: blueprints for those wretched X-Wing fighters, fitted with versions of the turbolaser he’d seen before, an assembly line, clanking deep in the jungle on a planet that clearly wasn’t the same fjordland landscape as Var-Shaa. “You’ve seen everything…” he whispered. He withdrew his hand, kicking back up to the surface of the sea and gasping for air. 

Keller was sniffling, head bent over the table so her confined fingers could massage her temples, as if this was a normal headache. “How…” she mumbled, barely audible. 

“Surely you’ve heard the old stories,” he replied, trying to return to some measure of kindness, or at least civility. “I really am sorry I had to cause you pain, Keller. I wish you would’ve just told me what you knew.”

“You—you don’t get to do that!” she snarled, voice breaking. “Who the hell are you? Do I at least get to know that much?”

He gave her a small smile and a half-bow as he stood up to leave. “My name is Varan Baize. The Emperor’s Hand.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings once again, fanfiction world!  
> This is my re-foray into this craft after "Avatar: The Missing Moments", which I published over last summer--if you're an ATLA fan, check it out after you read this chapter!  
> With the college semester now over, I decided that I needed to keep my creativity muscles engaged over winter break. I knew that my next fic would likely be Star Wars, as it is my lifeblood (though not my preferred fanfiction reading material). I decided to try the OC route, and the inspiration for this piece, and the character of Varan Baize, simply comes from me doing what every SW fan does: imagining themself in the franchise. You'll see bits and pieces of other established characters rear their heads in both Varan Baize and Keller Atisma. But, really, this piece is my attempt to weave together, at long last, strands of storyline that have been unspooling in my head since I was very, very young.  
> 


	2. The Chains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varan is summoned back to Coruscant to report to his master.

The door to Keller’s cell closed behind him, crisp and automatic, and Varan let out a long, slow breath. Just as his master taught him. In moments of discomfort, in moments when you finally shed that old, weak skin and become what you were always meant to be, breathe deep and reflect back on the code. Where the code came from, Varan didn’t really know. But he mumbled it quietly to himself, still standing in front of the cold metal door. 

“Peace is a lie. There is only Passion. Through Passion I gain Strength. Through Strength I gain Power. Through Power I gain Victory. Through Victory my chains are Broken. The Force shall free me.”

There were parts of this code that Varan wasn’t so sure about. He didn’t think peace had to be a lie. After all, wasn’t that what he was helping the Empire achieve? A twinge of regret poked at his stomach as he thought of Keller’s gasps when he swam into her mind. That must not have felt very peaceful to her. But the Emperor had trained him to use the mind probe properly, and the Emperor had said that it was possible to use the technique without harming the subject. If he had hurt Keller, it was his own fault for not using the technique correctly. Varan had gotten a good chunk of the information he desired. But it didn’t feel like Victory. 

He also didn’t know whether the chains could ever really be broken. Solarine wasn’t even an important world, but through the first sixteen years of his life, he’d seen the Republic gain and lose a superficial grip on the planet as it became the Empire. Then, as the Empire struggled to gain footing in the Outer Rim, Solarine had been a veritable ball in deadly game of catch between the Hutts, the Pykes, and Crimson Dawn. And, finally, as the Empire grew in strength, they had retaken his home in a mostly symbolic, yet undeniably final gesture designed to demonstrate the order they were bringing back to the Outer Rim. Call the “powers that be” whatever you will, but they are all chains. They may differ in comfort or in tightness, but chains are chains. However, the reward for complying with the Empire’s chains (unlike those of any crime syndicate) was economic prosperity, stability, and security. In Varan’s book, compared to the state of Solarine before the Empire made their presence known, those chains were downright freeing. And the Force had earned him the Emperor’s favor, and given him a position to not only free himself, but others. 

“The Force shall free me,” Varan repeated, closing his eyes. “My chains…” he considered. “My chains give me purpose. And the Force shall free me.”

“What in blazes are you mumbling on about, child?” an aristocratic voice interrupted his reverie. Varan snapped his eyes open and whipped his head in the direction of the voice to see a thin, hook-nosed man with liver spots and the ugliest, wispiest mustache he’d ever seen. This was Commander Granz, meticulously polished rancor leather boots clacking obnoxiously on the metal floor. 

“Nothing important to you,” Varan replied coolly. He’d learned to avoid insisting that Granz address him by his correct styling of “Lord Hand” or “My Lord”. It would only elicit a quiet snicker, as the elderly man leered at a kid who demanded to be flattered with formalities. So Varan tolerated the little shanks of “child” or “boy”, knowing that, despite Granz’s jealousy that someone almost fifty years his junior had more power and access to more knowledge than he ever would, his fierce loyalty to the regime would ensure he would always begrudgingly obey. 

“Walk with me, Commander.” Varan nudged Granz with an elbow. “I need a snack and some caf.” 

Granz snorted, but complied. “I trust the interrogation went as planned, then?” 

“Well, you didn’t really give me a plan, even when I specifically asked for one. What was the eopie dung you fed me… ‘we adapt our tactics to the nature of each prisoner?’” Varan reminded him, enjoying seeing what little color was left in Granz’s face slide out like a wave returning to sea. “But, yes. She gave me information that the Emperor will be pleased to hear.”

“I’d be pleased to hear it as well, my Lord,” Granz said. Varan restrained himself from visibly rolling his eyes. It was so desperate that it was almost insulting. Granz was all passive-agressiveness until he thought that giving a little decorum, a little respect would get him something in return. 

“Yeah, I’m sure you would. But I’m under instructions to save whatever intel I got for High Command,” Varan said, relishing being able to deliver yet another needling reminder of Granz’s stature. “That means Admirals and up,” Varan whispered sweetly. 

Granz coughed. “Yes, you’re right, of course. However, I’m afraid I won’t be able to join you for your little afternoon break. You’ve been summoned back to the Imperial Palace immediately. The Emperor wishes to speak with you.”

This should’ve paralyzed Varan with fear. Even if he couldn’t sense emotion so clearly in the Force, he could see the way other officers reacted when he had to tell them that their presence was requested by his master. It was like they were staring down the edge of a cliff. But, instead, excitement surged through Varan’s veins. A chance to speak with his savior, perhaps even to learn more about the power he possessed. Such opportunities were not to be feared, not for someone as loyal, as reliable as him. 

“The drink will have to wait until next time, then,” Varan chirped. “And I mean that. I think it would be best if we could find a way work together without all the...scowling.” Granz scowled further, then tried to undo it and paste a tight-lipped smile onto his face. It looked unnatural, and Varan regretted pushing him into the unfamiliar territory of a grin.

“Safe travels,” Granz muttered. That alone was some improvement. He’d wished him well with no attached barb. Perhaps there was a salvageable relationship here after all. 

Varan turned on his heel and began walking towards the turbolift to the hangar bay. “One more thing, Commander,” he said as he strolled further away. “I want Keller Atisma treated with dignity. No more enhanced interrogation. Meals from the officers’ mess, three times a day. And please get her a visit from the medical droid.”

At this, Granz finally let out an incredulous chortle. “Do you want me to give her my quarters too, boy?”

Varan kept his cool. “Nope. I want you to do the things I just ordered you to do. We’ll reassess when I return.”

“You’ll—you’ll be returning?” Granz stuttered.

The door to the turbolift opened and Varan sauntered in backwards and hit the button that would send him to the hangar level. “Hopefully in a few rotations, Gramps. And in your nightmares until then!” Varan saluted casually, wondering how he didn’t think of the “Gramps” nickname before now, as the lift doors hissed shut. 

\---------------------------------------------

One of the many perks of throwing in so completely with the Empire was his personal shuttle, which he had named the Blood Sunset. The naming process had been quick. Varan had wanted a reminder of Solarine, and, no matter how unpleasant his days had usually been back on his homeworld, the sunsets were always a highlight. Then he’d thought he might need to add a bit of strength to the name—he was working in military circles, after all. So he’d added the word “blood”, as the first word that came to mind when thinking of how to project the signature blend of authority and mystique that came with his rank of Emperor’s Hand. And it also brought up images of Solarine sunsets, the tinges of red that accented the speckles of clouds in the dimming sky. 

Blood Sunset, he knew, was also incredibly pompous and silly. But firstly, the most frivolous ship names were always the best. And second, no one would dare call him out on it. He was the Emperor’s Hand! Well, maybe one person would, Varan thought, thinking of the battered girl he’d left behind in that cell on Granz’s Destroyer. He sincerely hoped the old man was following orders, and that Keller was currently “enjoying” the finest prepackaged fambaa meat the officers’ mess had to offer. 

“Shuttle, um, Blood Sunset, do you read me?” Make that two people who hate the name, Varan thought bemusedly. The wry voice belonged to Captain Antonus Rask, head of the Emperor’s personal security corps. Or, at least, the more typically militaristic security he initially presented to visitors. Varan’s master preferred to keep the Red Guards to his chambers, mystery seeping from the folds of their crimson robes. And even those monolithic entities were, in the end, all for show. The most powerful being in the galaxy didn’t need protection by anyone, from anyone. 

“Yes, Captain, read you loud and clear,” Varan responded, giving the steering levers a shift to the left as the Imperial Palace—what was once the nest of the Jedi—came into view. The ion engine thrummed reponsively as the Blood Sunset’s wings sliced through the noxious Coruscanti air. He didn’t like standing outside on Coruscant for too long, but from the newly refurbished cockpit of the old V-Wing starfighter, the sunset over the cityscape didn’t look bad at all. 

“Good to hear, my Lord Hand,” Rask said respectfully. “You’re clear to proceed to pad two.”

“Affirmative,” Varan replied. “See you on the ground.”

“Rask out.” The comm clicked off. Varan navigated methodically, jerkily through the skylanes down to the Palace, still not quite used to the sheer volume of ships and speeders that trudged through the capital world every rotation. But, eventually, he reached the pad and set down the Blood Sunset for landing. He had forced himself to learn this part, too. Varan’s flying experience pre-Empire had been almost nonexistent, but he had refused his master’s offer of an FA-4 pilot droid, saying this was a skill he needed to understand. As soon as the ship stopped moving, Varan was out of his seat and climbing out under the transparisteel glass of the cockpit.

Rask was there to greet him as he jumped off the top of his ship and onto the glossy pavement. “I’m on time, right, Captain?” Varan quipped. 

“As always, my Lord,” Rask responded, smiling faintly.

“Lead the way, then.” Varan had liked Rask since the moment they met, and he hoped the feeling was mutual. Rask was no kid, but, although Varan had never asked his age, he couldn’t be older than thirty. This made him the closest thing Varan had to a peer within his circles of the Imperial military. And, unlike Commander Granz, Rask didn’t act like Varan’s very existence threatened his inevitable ascension to Grand Moff. With each visit to the Palace, Varan got a bit more information about Rask’s life, though the young captain at least ostensibly attempted to keep their relationship professional. Still, he’d managed to learn that Rask had a Mirialan wife and twins on the way, and that before enlisting with the Empire, he’d been their apartment complex’s handyman. Another success story. 

They made small talk on their way to the Emperor’s throne room. Varan asked about Rask’s family, genuinely hopeful everyone was happy and healthy. But as they drew closer and closer to the ornate black-stone door that would open to reveal the Emperor presiding calmly over his court, Rask’s responses grew shorter. Varan could feel the pulses of fear radiating from his acquaintance, and he tried to project calm and reassurance through the Force, though he wasn’t quite sure whether Rask had the ability to pick up on it. 

They reached the door, and Rask stopped a couple meters behind Varan, clearly itching to run back to his control room at the outer gate of the Palace. Varan chuckled. “Come on, Captain, he’s not so scary.”

“Not to you, he isn’t,” Rask muttered, too loudly. Varan raised an eyebrow. “My Lord,” Rask added quickly. Varan took a mental note, but betrayed no anger or suspicion to the captain. 

“Give my best to Marzi, then,” Varan said gently. Rask saluted crisply and scurried back down the cavernous hallway. 

Varan took a deep breath and aligned his face over the retinal scanner embedded in the massive doorframe. The machine beeped placidly and the doors slowly caved inward, revealing yet another huge space, with dark grey walls accented with deep red and golden statues of hooded figures that seemed to bow to him as he ascended cold metal stairs to the Emperor’s throne. 

His master’s seat was turned to face the window looking out onto the heart of Coruscant’s Imperial district. Varan dropped to one knee. “My Lord Emperor,” Varan said, reverent, almost whispering. The Emperor was in quiet conversation with his two ghoulish “advisers”, but at Varan’s greeting, the Emperor waved them off, back into whatever hole in the wall they crawled out of. 

“Rise, my boy.” Emperor Palpatine spoke, and his voice alone seemed to give Varan clarity. He reached out again through the Force, and felt as if he was in the eye of a typhoon. The Emperor could be fiercer than the fiercest storms on Solarine. It was calm here, in the throne room, and it would continue to be calm because Varan had done as his master had asked, and done it reasonably well. But he could feel the depths of his master’s power all around him, like towering storm clouds sizzling with lightning. 

The Emperor glided over to Varan, now standing. It was strange. Varan was clearly taller than his Master, and yet he felt infinitesmal. The Emperor put a hand on his shoulder, and Varan relaxed. “Were you able to extract anything of value from the Rebel agent?” the Emperor croaked. 

“Yes,” Varan said eagerly. “It seems the aurodium is being used to make some sort of new armament for their starfighters. The Var-Shaa mine is supplying one, or maybe many of the Rebel cells with the raw material, but the weapons are being crafted offworld. In some jungle somewhere. I’m sorry, I wasn’t able to get anything more than that out of her.”

“And did you attempt the mind probe?”

“Yes, sir,” Varan said. “Your teaching served me well. She became angrier, and her thoughts became clear.” Varan paused. “Well...clearer. I think she’s been trained to resist our interrogation droid, and other, ah, less refined techniques of questioning didn’t seem to crack her either.”

“Then it is understandable that the information you garnered lacks…” the Emperor started, and Varan braced, “...detail. This was your first attempt at the technique, correct?” 

Varan nodded. “You will have ample opportunity to refine your power, but to extract as much as you did,” the Emperor looked at him, something resembling pride shining in his golden eyes. “It is impressive, Varan. Most impressive.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” Varan sighed with relief. “I’m only sorry the probe seemed to hurt her.”

The Emperor frowned. “This is of concern to you?” he said slowly.

“Well—no. I guess not.” The Emperor walked down the stairs to a small table and motioned for a black-chrome protocol droid to bring a tray of tarine tea. Varan joined his master and accepted the droid’s proffered cup. He took a sip. It was bitter, cloying stuff, but he drank. He was thirsty after the trip to Coruscant, and he would never refuse the Emperor’s hospitality. 

“Your emotion betrays you,” the Emperor needled. “Do you sympathize with this girl?”

“No!” Varan gasped. The Emperor raised the patch of dead skin that was once his left eyebrow. “No, I don’t,” Varan confirmed, lowering his voice and sipping the horrible tea once again. 

“But you did not wish to hurt her,” the Emperor said gently. 

“Is it so wrong that I’d rather not hurt someone than hurt someone?” Varan dared to ask. “You told me it was possible to do it painlessly. You know I’ll do whatever it takes to help you after what you did for me. But I feel—I feel contaminated. You should’ve seen her when I left her mind, my Lord. Please...please understand.” Varan looked at his master beseechingly, and was rewarded with another smile.

“This is a natural response,” the Emperor said. “And I admire your nobility. The Force has gifted you with immeasurable power. You simply seek to use it in the right way.”

“Yeah, that’s it,” Varan said quickly. 

“But you must take care to avoid a Jedi’s dogma.” The Emperor’s voice became guttural as he mentioned the Fallen Order. He motioned the protocol droid back over and put his finished cup of tea back on the serving tray. “The Jedi had a significant measure of power, but they chose not to use it. They swaddled themselves in self-assurance that they were doing the right thing, embraced a slavish devotion to the light side of the Force, while the galaxy crumbled around them.”

“I’m not like that,” Varan insisted, but already he started to doubt himself. Was his effort to preserve some small sense of honor hindering his service to the Empire?

“I know you aren’t,” the Emperor reassured him. “In fact, this is why you possess such vast...potential. You will succeed where the Inquisitors did not. Fear, anger, hatred, yes, they had those in abundance. But, try as Lord Vader did to develop their talent, the old chains of the Jedi kept their spirits in turmoil. They were no more than hunters, one and all. And in the end, they were failures, one and all.” The Emperor rose and stepped over to Varan’s side of the table. 

He placed his hand on Varan’s shoulder again. “On the other hand, you, Varan, are untouched by the light. And, therefore, your power is limitless. Do not impose such limits on yourself, apprentice. It is...unnatural.”

Varan felt a twinge of sadness, and he stood up, attempting to move slowly away from his master’s grip on his shoulder. “So that’s all I am, then. An upgraded Inquisitor.”

“Of course not!” the Emperor said benevolently. “The Inquisitors were little more than rabid, beaten curs. Whereas you possess more raw power than any being I’ve ever seen.” At this, Varan raised an eyebrow. He wanted to believe it, but it felt like exactly the kind of statement the Emperor would think he wanted to hear. “Every test I have placed before you, you have passed. At every step, you have proven your loyalty. But, though you are not a Jedi, you are not yet without your chains.”

“Tell me what I must do,” Varan asked, like a prayer. 

“Remember, light and dark do not signify peace and aggression, but passivity and action. Complacence and destiny.”

“Peace is a lie,” Varan breathed. 

The Emperor smiled, chuckling slightly. “Good,” he purred. “Now, you possess an extraordinary opportunity. May I be frank with you, Varan?”

“Of course, my Lord.”

“When I sent you to interrogate the girl, I did not know whether she had any information of value,” the Emperor admitted, and Varan couldn’t stop his eyes from widening. “I only wanted you to hone your abilities further, and that you did. And now the Empire has a link to a new threat from the Rebellion.”

Varan didn’t speak. He didn’t trust himself to say something respectful. Though the Emperor had assured him otherwise, he felt like a dog, sent to rough up this poor girl so he could grow stronger, fiercer. He wanted to help the Empire, not just groom his powers—powers he didn’t even know he had until a year ago! But, though he remained silent, he wasn’t talented enough to hide his rage from his master quite yet.

“I understand your anger, and I hope you will forgive me,” the Emperor said. “But the Force has given us an opportunity. Return to Commander Granz’s Star Destroyer and question the girl again. Use whatever means necessary. Fill in the details of the images you saw the first time. And, if you find anything more of use, report to me...and to Grand Admiral Thrawn of the Seventh Fleet.”

This name was unfamiliar, but therefore unthreatening. And the Emperor didn’t just give out Grand Admiral titles to anyone. Emperor’s Hand, conversely...Varan joked to himself. 

“I will not fail you,” Varan declared, bowing low again. 

“Stay the night in the palace, if you desire. The guest rooms are certainly more comfortable than a cot on a Destroyer.”

“Thank you, my Lord.”

“And search your feelings. Your connection to the Rebel girl—”

“Keller Atisma,” Varan interrupted, then immediately regretted it. He felt anger surge through the Force, quickly replaced by perverse amusement. 

The Emperor cackled. “If you wish. Your connection to Keller Atisma may prove more useful than you know. Search your feelings, search the Force, and deduce the best way to fulfill your task.”

“By your command.”

“Go, then. Enjoy the palace,” the Emperor said, still laughing faintly. 

Without another word, Varan jumped to his feet and descended the stairs back to the door, allowing his shoulders to relax only once he heard it clang shut behind him. For the first time after meeting his master, he felt compelled to repeat the Code as a balm for his troubled spirit. 

“Peace is a lie,” he whispered to himself. “There is only Passion. Through Passion I gain Strength. Through Strength I gain Power. Through Power I gain Victory. Through Victory my chains are Broken. The Force shall free me.” 

And, for the first time, Varan wondered whether his definitions of the tenets mentioned in the code could be different from the definitions his master provided him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed, please leave kudos and/or a review!
> 
> Writing the Emperor was a blast. I tried to tap into his avuncular, kindly nature from when he was grooming Anakin in the prequels. I believe he would take the same tack with Varan, and Varan desperately wants to trust it because, as we'll see in later chapters, he has legitimate reasons to love the Empire. But there's a strange connection, an intimacy, even, that comes with reading someone's mind, and Varan is, by nature, an honorable boy. So we're seeing seeds of doubt creep in already...
> 
> How will Keller respond to seeing her tormentor again? Find out next chapter!


	3. The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varan's relationship with Keller grows deeper as he makes a second attempt to extract the information his Empire needs.

“Did they feed you right while I was gone?” Varan asked, eyes roving over the expression of the heavy-lidded girl in front of him. He’d accepted the Emperor’s offer to stay at the palace, of course, but woken up early the next morning and immediately made for the Ascendance, Granz’s Star Destroyer. Once onboard, Varan had barely even waved a hello to the prissy old man before barging into Keller’s cell to resume his mission. Yes, he reminded himself. You have a mission. Get the information, and put her out of your mind.

“You’re talking about me like I’m your pet jakrab,” Keller muttered. 

“I’m sorry,” Varan conceded. “But I told them to give you your meals from the officer’s mess. Granz told me they followed orders, but, honestly, I figure you’re less likely to lie to me than he is.” The corner of Keller’s mouth twitched upward, ever so briefly. Varan counted it as a resounding victory. 

“The food was different, yes,” Keller said, monotone, betraying no gratitude. “Wouldn’t say it was noticeably better. Guess the up-tops don’t want you to know the food that you’re eating doesn’t taste much better than the slop they give the prisoners.”

Varan laughed. “It’s not great, I’ll give you that. But it’ll stick to your ribs better than what you were having before. That other stuff is designed to keep our guests technically healthy, but never full. Part of the plan to get you all to talk.”

“Didn’t work,” Keller said. “Well, I didn’t talk.” She glared at him. Varan wondered if she was Force-sensitive too, and if she sensed that, because he had no intention of hurting her again unless it was absolutely necessary, she could say whatever the hell she wanted. Or maybe their day and a half apart, with no torture droids and no mind probes, had simply allowed her bad attitude to regenerate. 

Varan’s eyes drifted to her chin. Where the skin was once split and angry, it was now reddish—still tender, but mostly healed. “Your wound looks better,” Varan said, trying to steer the conversation in a more positive, more productive direction. 

Keller’s hand tried to float upward to touch her face, but she had been cuffed to the table again upon his arrival. She rolled her eyes and, after a moment of consideration (probably too short of a moment, to be honest), Varan flicked a hand and the Force undid her bonds. “I assume that was your doing, too? The medical droid?” Keller asked, standing up and running a finger over the delicate skin. Varan knew that this was probably a massive breach of every protocol ever written, but he had no doubt he could overpower her if necessary. 

“Yeah,” Varan admitted, almost embarrassed. Maybe he should be embarrassed. He was pampering a prisoner, perhaps jeopardizing an interrogation. 

“Well, thanks for that much,” Keller grumbled. “But you’re not exactly subtle. No matter what kind of prison luxuries you throw at me, I’m not talking.”

“But you don’t have to talk, remember?” Varan said, smiling devilishly. The girl blanched. 

“Go ahead, then,” Keller said. She held her hands out together, in a bowl shape. “I present my brain to you.”

“Not yet,” Varan said. “I—I feel bad about last time.”

Keller erupted into riotous laughter. After (and Varan counted) a full ten seconds, she slammed her palms down on the table and stared him down incredulously. “You have to be the worst Imperial I’ve ever met!” she said. 

“A ‘thank you’ would also be acceptable,” Varan muttered. 

She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and started pacing the small space behind her end of the interrogation table. “No, no, okay...thank you,” Keller said, seeming to exert tremendous energy to summon this small shred of gratitude. “I’m confused, though. You’ve got to understand—we’re used to getting tortured for no reason, not having Imps back off because they feel bad!” She started laughing again, and now Varan was starting to get annoyed. He waved his hand again and the metal chair skidded over and knocked her legs out from under her, plopping her squarely down on the seat. The chair scraped across the floor back to the table with another gesture, slow enough not to dislodge her, but quick enough to wipe the grin off her face. 

“How do you do that?” Keller asked, mystified. 

“I don’t really know,” Varan said. “Same power I used to get into your mind. Different manifestation.”

“It’s creepy as hell.”

“You’ve never seen it before?” he asked, and Keller shook her head. 

“Heard the stories,” Keller said. “I suppose everyone has. Never really thought they were real.” She paused for a moment. “What else can you do, other than mind-reading and throwing stuff around?”

“Doesn’t seem tactically sound to reveal that information,” Varan chuckled. 

“So, nothing else?” Keller guessed.

“Yeah,” Varan admitted. “Or, I don’t know. My master hasn’t taught me, and I haven’t tried anything crazy on my own. I only found out I was ‘Force-sensitive’, as they call it, about a year ago.”

“Sounds to me like Palpatine’s holding you back.”

“Let’s not get political,” Varan chided. “What’s with the questions, anyway? Why do you care?”

“I mean, you’re the best company I’ve had since getting captured.” Keller shrugged.

Varan blushed, and Keller snickered. “Oh, stop it, that’s a very low bar to clear. Everyone else I’ve seen has either beat me, electrocuted me, or injected me with some truth serum that probably takes, like, ten years off my life expectancy.”

“It’s only five years,” Varan cracked. 

“Shut up.”

“Alright, mind your manners, prisoner,” Varan re-centered himself in a position of superficial authority. He’d had enough fun, and now he had a job to do. Keller put her hands up in a conciliatory gesture. “Tell me what you’re doing with the aurodium.”

“I thought we weren’t getting political,” she poked. 

“Keller.”

“Varan!” she retorted, and, although he knew it was intended to mock him, he couldn’t help the spark of elation that flew through his body when she said his name. “How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not going to talk! Dive back in with your little magic if you want, but I’m not just going to sell out my friends because you very slightly upgraded my accommodations! That’s not how this works.”

Varan roared with frustration and, almost without thinking, reached out his hand. The Emperor’s voice thundered in his head: Do not impose such limits on yourself. This time, it was not Keller’s frustration that fueled his power, but his own fury. And it felt...limitless. He curled his fingers further inward and closed his eyes. Images flashed in his mind, but too fast to comprehend. He roared again, and the images slowed down, but now he could see they were the same images as before. The X-Wing blueprints, the turbolaser spitting golden light, an assembly line clanking in the jungle. The only things missing were the little details from Keller’s personal life, and Varan could do without those. But the images were starting to speed up again, whooshing in and out of his mind, the sounds meshing together into a cacophony of white noise.

Eventually, the noise left his mind too, and the only things Varan could hear now were Keller’s agonized cries.

Varan lowered his hand and jumped to his feet. “Keller!” he screamed, rushing to her side. He put a hand on her shoulder as her screams subsided, but as soon as she regained her mental clarity, she roughly shrugged his hand off, whirled to her feet, and punched him squarely in the mouth. 

Varan staggered backwards, touching his lip. It wasn’t the worst punch he had ever taken, but already his mouth was starting to bleed and he knew the pain wouldn’t subside for quite a bit. Keller’s eyes widened, and he saw her set her feet, bracing for whatever Force assault he was about to throw at her. But he took a deep breath and kept himself from lashing out. For what felt like the thousandth time, Varan reminded himself that he had a job to do. 

“I’m sorry—” he started. 

“Don’t even try me with that,” Keller spat. 

“I meant it. I felt bad when I hurt you last time, and I feel bad this time. But you have to realize I will go in again, and again, and again until you give me what I need to take back to my master.”

“You’ll excuse me if I don’t feel particularly charitable.”

“Can I ask you what it feels like? The mind probe?” Varan said quietly, sitting back down at the table. After a moment of caution, she joined him, gingerly pulling her chair back and sitting down. Swap the dark, hostile design of the cell out for a warmly lit room with tables and steaming mugs of caf, and they could’ve been two friends catching up, or two young lovers on a winter night’s date. 

“Like—like someone is literally reaching inside your head and messing around with your brain. Ripping it apart. Squeezing it as hard as they can. It hurts, Varan. A lot.” She stared at him beseechingly. Varan marveled at her expression. He’d bantered with her, given her nicer food, healed her wounds, but (understandably) because of the pain he’d caused her, she always looked at him like the enemy. Now, for the first time, her eyes begged him to show compassion, not Imperial-to-Rebel, not captor-to-prisoner, but human-to-human. 

“The Emperor told me it was possible to do it painlessly,” Varan said, looking down. “I guess I’m not strong enough yet.”

“Come on,” Keller said ruefully. “The Emperor doesn’t do anything on accident. He probably knows your abilities better than you do.”

“You may be right,” Varan admitted. She had a point. His master had even told him that he wasn’t sure whether Keller had any information of value. 

“He sent you here to hurt me,” Keller said. “Even if he was telling the truth, and it is possible to get inside someone’s head without causing any pain—which I call eopie dung on—the fact that he probably knew you wouldn’t be able to do it, and sent you here anyways…”

“No…” Varan breathed.

“Did he even know if I had anything important to tell you all?” Keller asked, as if she was the one with the ability to probe minds. “Why would he send…” she snapped her fingers, “blast, what was your stupid title again?”

“Emperor’s Hand,” Varan supplied. 

“Emperor’s Hand—wow, that is ridiculous.”

“If you like that, you should see my ship,” Varan said wryly. 

“Oh, now I have to know,” Keller laughed. 

“It’s called the Blood Sunset,” Varan said, bracing for a thorough teasing.

Keller nodded slowly. “You know...it’s not the worst I’ve ever heard.”

Varan grinned fully, but Keller’s mind had already raced back to her original line of questioning. “Why would he send the Emperor’s Hand to question me? Did he know if I had something big on the Rebellion?”

“At first he said you were a critical prisoner. But when I spoke with him last, since the first time was in here, he said he didn’t know whether you knew anything at all.”

Keller raised her eyebrows. “Wow,” she said simply. “His brutality...it never ceases to amaze.”

“No, it wasn’t brutality—”

“It wasn’t? Varan, get your head out of your spark plug for one second! He told you I was ‘critical’ or whatever so you’d bust out all your witchcraft, and then once you’d roughed my mind up sufficiently, he revealed the truth!” 

“He wouldn’t lie to me,” Varan insisted. “Not after all we’ve done together.” 

“But you just said he did! You just don’t want to bad-mouth him again. You’ve already misbehaved too much!”

“No, I don’t want to bad-mouth him!” Varan agreed emphatically. “Just like you don’t want to sell out your traitor friends!”

Keller ignored the barb. “My only question is why he thinks that you would sign up for a program that develops your strength by torturing random people.”

“And why are you so convinced I wouldn’t be down with that?”

“Because!” Keller shouted, but trailed off. “Because you—”

“Because what?” Varan asked, voice growing soft. 

“Because I can’t get a read on you, Varan!” Keller said, exasperated. “You’re a kid, like me. You shouldn’t be with the Empire.”

“I made my choice,” Varan said. 

“I’m not just saying that because I hate the Empire,” Keller said. “And I’m not just saying that because every other Imp officer I’ve met has been, like, six thousand years old. The way you act...it makes me feel like you and I could be friends. And then you come in and rip my mind to shreds!”

“I’m sorry—” 

“Stop saying sorry!” Keller cut him off. “Just give me a straight up answer. Did any of that stuff, the quote-unquote good food, the joking around, the medical droid, did it mean anything? Or was it all just some half-assed attempt to loosen my lips?”

Varan didn’t reply for several moments, partially because he wasn’t sure he knew the answer himself. It was clear that neither of their loyalties were in flux. He was loyal to the regime, to the master, who had given him a place in the story of the galaxy. She, as flawed as her politics were, was steadfast in her conviction that the Empire was despotic and oppressive. As such, he had hurt her. Twice. With hesitation, but that had only ended up hurting him in her eyes, making him seem like a sociopath. And yet…

He was attracted to her. That much he knew. He imagined most people were. If she had taken a different path in life, she would be classically beautiful. But the life of rebellion had given her features a hard edge that Varan found intoxicating. Dark, passionate eyes, full lips, smooth, tan skin, that perfectly unkempt hair. Probably a decent body too, strengthened by years of training to clinically execute treason. Truthfully, she was out of his league, even if he was a normal guy, who hadn’t straight-up tortured her. And he would never be so stupid and lecherous as to pull something now. 

But it was more than that. They teased like siblings, bickered like spouses, ruminated like drinking buddies. This wasn’t some taboo attraction to the enemy. He couldn’t help but feel like their destinies were intertwined now. It was something he hadn’t felt since he met the Emperor. But this only furthered his confusion. Their current trajectories were towards opposite ends of the galaxy. Their destinies had a lot of intertwining left to do if Varan’s intuitions had any merit. But, thanks to the Emperor, thanks to the Force, he knew to trust his intuitions now. 

“It wasn’t a ploy,” Varan said quietly. “I promise.”

She leaned back in her seat, placing her hands in her lap. “That’s good to know...but, in the end, it doesn’t matter. Whatever you feel for me, whatever twisted connection you think we’ve made, you’ll always choose to be your Emperor’s attack dog.”

Varan sensed that any window he had for a productive conversation had closed. He stood, pushing his chair in behind him. “And you’ll always choose treason.”

Another opportunity wasted, and the storm inside him continued to churn. Peace is a lie, he started to recite in his mind, but he lacked the will to summon the rest of the Code. He slammed his hand on the door mechanism and the heavy metal slab lifted, allowing him to exit Keller’s cell. 

Varan didn’t put her handcuffs back on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed, please leave kudos and/or a review!
> 
> I promise, this story is not going to be conventional Stockholm syndrome. But, whether the chemistry these two operatives have is romantic or not, their connection grows stronger. And with Varan's Force intuition, and his existing tendency to believe in destiny, he's not giving up on their connection just yet, even though the chapter ends on bad terms (or does it...the cuffs remain off).
> 
> Next chapter: Keller attempts to break free, and new foes emerge...

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings once again, fanfiction world!  
> This is my re-foray into this craft after "Avatar: The Missing Moments", which I published over last summer--if you're an ATLA fan, check it out after you read this chapter!  
> With the college semester now over, I decided that I needed to keep my creativity muscles engaged over winter break. I knew that my next fic would likely be Star Wars, as it is my lifeblood (though not my preferred fanfiction reading material). I decided to try the OC route, and the inspiration for this piece, and the character of Varan Baize, simply comes from me doing what every SW fan does: imagining themself in the franchise. You'll see bits and pieces of other established characters rear their heads in both Varan Baize and Keller Atisma. But, really, this piece is my attempt to weave together, at long last, strands of storyline that have been unspooling in my head since I was very, very young.  
> If you enjoyed, please leave kudos and/or a review. I plan on posting every other night, but subsequent chapters may be longer and will definitely be more plot-complex than this one, so I won't promise anything quicker than that.  
> May the Force be with you,  
> _Stotle
> 
> P.S. Var-Shaa and Solarine are both real (and really obscure) planets from Star Wars canon! Major, major props to anyone who knows where they're from. 
> 
> P.P.S. I swear to God, I didn't realize that I was making an Emperor's Hand character whose name sounded SO similar to Mara Jade until the name was already cemented in my head. To my credit, Varan is not pronounced like Mara, with the stress on the first syllable. Varan Baize = va-RAHN BAYZ and Keller Atisma = KELL-er a-TEES-ma. So...yeah...if anyone cared about that, there it is :)


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